


after this first time

by cptsuke



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Comics), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t pause, not once; no time for introspection on the battlefield.</p><p>It’s just the streets of New York City, but they’ve always been a battlefield for them.</p><p> </p><p>(the turtles first kill, Leonardo's first kill)</p>
            </blockquote>





	after this first time

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i have written after a very long non-writing hiatus. Apologies for glaring mistakes, run on sentences, sentences of varying coherence, my weird writers style but hopefully not a story of incoherence.

 

He doesn’t pause, not once; no time for introspection on the battlefield.

It’s just the streets of New York City, but they’ve always been a battlefield for them.

(no wonder they’re all so maladjusted, even little Mikey with his too wide grin and sometimes too forced childish behaviour)

 So he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, just lets that thick spray of liquid - much heavier and meatier than that of a simple slice – lets it spray across his face and keeps moving.  Pulls his katana free and spins low to slash at the ninja trying to sneak up on him and Raph.

 There are flecks of red, tiny little spots of gore sprinkled across Raphael’s shell – a dishonourable ninja (aren’t they all?) attempting to cut his brother down as he fended off two other foes. Leo had a put a stop to that.

 He’s not sure Raph even notices.

 The red-banded turtle punches a good hard hit on one of his remaining foot ninja; his fist connecting with the solid sound of an assured concussion.

 Leo has always felt a little awed envy at watching his brother throw those heavy resounding hits, ensured by the muscle mass and grace of someone who knows where and how hard to hit.

 Raph half turns - a lookout for trouble several heartbeats too late – Leo catches sight of Raph’s bared teeth glinting in the dark. A smile or a grimace that might mean a thankyou or nothing at all, so Leo tucks his chin down – an almost nod – in return and brings his heel sharply against the struggling-to-get-up Ninja. He goes down like a stringless puppet. Leo’s feet are tacky and red; the form between him and Raph is leaking all over the pavement.

 The handle of Raph’s sai takes down his final opponent and then it’s just them and what Leo’s done.

 

From the end of the alley comes the sound of wood clacking against metal; Don fighting the good fight, he guesses, from the lack of amused taunting that usually accompanies Mikey’s duels.

Raphael’s breath - fast and harsh puffs of fog in the cold of the night – sounds too close to him and Leo reigns in his own racing heart and breathing back to a semblance of a calmer place.

He can’t think of anything to say so he turns his back on his – no, he can’t call it a mistake, he’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant the difference between Raph alive and Raph _not_.

He turns towards the lessening sounds – the fight winding down perhaps – goes from still to sprinting towards it anyway, unwilling to just presume the outcome; quickly creating a distance between him, the downed ninjas and that one cooling body.

Raph brushes lightly against him as he comes alongside; the burst of speed required to catch up and the sudden slowing to Leo’s speed sending him slightly off balance. There’s a sticky, tacky feeling between them as he steadies and Leo can see red staining Raph’s skin where they’d touched.

Neither say anything.

 _Did he even notice?_ Leo wonders, Raph in fight mode had been known to miss the finer details.

Their brother’s fight ends as they breach the alley’s ending.  Don’s bo smacking down his opponent with a resounding crack while Michelangelo sits on a nearby dumpster, critiquing.

He finds himself cataloguing his brothers, the laughing one, the one straightening up and the quiet surly one beside him.

Everyone is well.

All is good.

Time to fade back into the night,

Maybe the wind promising coming rain will wash away their – _his_ – mess before a civilian can stumble across it.

He speaks – words he’s said a thousand times, words he will maybe say a thousand times again – calling his brothers back below ground; counting them off as they slip past him into the sewer like a grim parody of a school teacher counting their wards – a thing seen on television but will never be experienced by them.

Raph pauses for half a second – half in, half out – teeth flashing on and off as his lips move; chewing on words he may or may not share.

He eventually decides not to share; giving Leo an unreadable look before disappearing into the dark as if he wasn’t there at all. 

Leo blinks, dread curling around the weird feeling that might be guilt or something else entirely in his gut. Raph holding his thoughts in rarely bode well for Leo in the future.

 

 

He’s tired when they finally reach the lair.  Exhausted and bone tired even though the night had not been a particularly gruelling one. He lets the entrance slide close and…

“Woah, bro, you can have first shower.”

He blinks down at his hands.

They’re very red.

_Of course._

He nods a thankful, polite smile at Michelangelo, though he can see the TV has already captured the turtle’s attention.  No one argues, the door to Don’s lab creaking softly as it swishes closed behind him, and Raph seems to be headed towards his room.

No matter what he’s feeling inside, there doesn’t seem to be any sign of it on the outside. He should look different, he thinks, leaning over the sink, scrubbing at the filth that seems content to sit in the lines of his skin forever.

A mark of Cain perhaps.

Something that warns others what he is.

What he’s done.

He finds himself looking in the mirror, the blue material wrapped around his skull is spotted a dried blood brown alongside his blood freckled face. He tears it off, throwing it angrily into the pinking water that fills the sink.

His hand shakes.

He’s not even angry.

Just.

Just.

He doesn’t know.

He wipes his skin, carefully avoiding his own eyes in the mirror as he removes the traces of murder from his face.

Because that’s what it was.

He scrubs methodically at the bandanna, holding the thin material tightly in his other hand. 

Self-defence – brother defence? – but murder nonetheless.

Is he a murderer now?

Was this what he was always going to be?

Will he be one again?

He tries to be calm about it – is mostly successful – though he isn’t sure the cold lack of feeling in him is the calmness he should be striving for.

“Bro.”

His fingers sting. 

The water pinker than it was before.

“Leo!”  A hand claps down heavy on his shoulder and he is the worst ninja; his heart won’t stop pounding so damned hard in his chest from that simple startle.

And Raph is there and Leo’s not sure he wants him because it’s all Raph’s fault – _only it’s not_ – if he’d just been paying more attention – _he couldn’t have, he’d trusted Leo to have his back_ – and he had.

He had.

Leo’s mind circles on an endless loop of blaming and counter blaming.  He’s sure if he had just… _something_ …he’d have done everything better. 

_Would've never_

 “Hey.”  Raph’s speaking quieter now, sticky red hands stilling Leo’s.

 He’s scrubbed a little too hard.  He always did get a little too into his head sometimes; he’s hurt himself more times in the practice for perfection than he will ever admit.

 “Come on.”  Raph might be speaking quieter but there’s still that ‘listen to me or I’ll..’ steel in his voice, so Leo lets him lead him away from the sink.  Lets him wrap his hands in their softest towel, even though it’ll stain and Mikey will never forgive him and…

 He doesn’t protest.  Just slouch-leans against the wall and lets his brother dry his hands. 

 He feels weird.  Like maybe he should cry or throw up, but he doesn’t feel like doing any of those things.  Doesn’t feel like doing anything.

 Except maybe sleep.

 He leans his head back against the cool wall and closes his eyes as Raph wraps the towel around his hands.

 They’re already dry, he wants to protest but he doesn’t say anything.  The towel is nice and soft and warm despite its slight dampness.

 He listens to the sink’s plug being pulled, the whipping water splattering noise of Raph shaking out his soaking bandanna.

 Leo’s eyes slit open of their own volition, so he watches Raph hang up that blue piece of material that somehow means _Leo_.

 

He can’t even see the stain of tonight on it.

 (He’ll always see the stains of tonight on it)

 

“What the hell were you doing?!”  Raph rounds on him, angry maybe, but worried definitely.

“I’m just,” Dirty. Freaking out. Losing it. _Fucking_ up. _Always fucking up_.  “Tired.”

He ends lamely, even though the words have never been truer.

There’s silence and Leo resists the urge to look away from the spot of wall he’s studying.

Doesn’t want to see what his brother’s face looks like when he’s looking at him.

(when he’s looking at a murderer)

His hands come down heavy on either side of Leo’s neck – a comforting weight – as he bumps his forehead not quite gently against his own.

“Go to bed you idiot.”

“I’ve got to..”  He halfheartedly gestures towards his swords.

“I can do it.”

“No, I’ve got to,” He’d wiped them down before resheathing them but they’ll still need cleaning.  Proper cleaning.

 “I’ve got it.”  Raph growls, angry like Leo’s questioning his honour or something.

 “I’m sorry.”  He says though he’s not sure what for.

 Maybe for everything.

 (if he’d just been better)

 (he should’ve been better)

 Raph doesn’t say anything - not spouting words of denial that Leo wouldn’t be able to accept as truth right now - just a soft huff of a sigh and a slight wrinkle between his brows.  The kind of thing that means he’s angry, or really annoyed, or worried, or he thinks Leo’s an idiot.

 (or he’s really annoyed that Leo the idiot is worrying him)

 Leo likes that wrinkle, it tells him time and time again that no matter the words that come out of Raph’s mouth, he always cares.  Caring that induces rage, perhaps, but a care nonetheless.

 “Raph,”  He says even though he has nothing to add to it.

 Should he apologise again?

 How is he supposed to behave?

 How long until the others notice?

 How long until Splinter..?

 He feels like he might want to throw up now. 

 How could he have used his father’s teachings like this?

 How can he ever ask for forgiveness for that?  How can he when he’d do it over and over again, he’d drown himself in this feeling, in this blood if it meant he got to count three hale and healthy brothers through the door before himself.

 “It’s okay, Leo.”

 A hand moves gently – more gently than he’s ever seen Raph – to a reassuring cradle at the base of his neck. An almost hug.

 “It’s okay.  It’ll be all right.  Just get some sleep.  Just..” He swallows, foreheads bumping softly with the movement.

 “You’re an idiot.  No ones going to.  You... You just need to get some sleep, bro.”

 He’s used to Raph’s half sentences, though usually they’re hissed or shouted through clenched teeth, fuelled and choked by rage.

 “I’m sorry,” Leo says again.

 “You don’t gotta be sorry.”  Raph hisses out, a familiar anger simmering in his tone. “You saved my life, don’t ever be sorry for that.”

 The hand on the back of his head tightens, like if he just holds on enough Leo won't keep drifting like he is, then quietly asking.

 “Do you wish you hadn’t?”

 Leo jolts, startled; an emotion - _anger_ – stirring – _commitment_ – in his chest – _steadfast loyalty and love._

 “No!”  The words burst out of him, louder than intended. “I’d do it a thousand times, how can you?  I’d…”

 He trails off as he comes back to himself, hands gripping the edges of Raphael’s shell with whitening knuckles; like if he just held tight enough he could keep his family together purely with the strength of his grip.

 Raph looks almost happy with his outburst.

 “Good.”  He says bumping their foreheads together – rougher than before – and pulling back.  “Because we need our Fearless Leader.”

 His grin is more or less pure Raph, mostly mocking but heartfelt because Raph’s smiles are always mocking even if the mocking isn’t intended to be harsh.

 “I think I am going to go to bed.”  Leo says, announcing like it was his idea all along; feeling lighter even though nothing has technically has changed. 

 “Hey, Leo.”  Raph calls as he reaches the door.

 Leo turns back, looking at his brother standing in the middle of the bathroom, holding his swords.

 There’s still red in the grooves of the tsuba and lines of the blade, but there always is and, perhaps, there always will be.

 “Thanks.”  The word is whispered but strong, heartfelt. 

 Leo bows his head as he turns away - a calmness settling back into his bones - and thinks that maybe he can live with this.


End file.
